


The Boy with Constellations on his Skin

by quicksylver28



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Character Death, Multi, Sex, Time Travel, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksylver28/pseuds/quicksylver28
Summary: Stiles has had enough. Time to fuck up some shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see from the artwork, i have been writing this story on and off since 2015. boy how time flies. its been living in my one drive, languishing away and i wanted to bring it out, dust it off and work on it some more. hopefully i can finish it and put it behind me soon. i don't want to give a deadline cause those NEVER work for me so i'll be vague and say soon. lol.

It was when Danny was killed by the latest oogly boogly that had been drawn to Beacon Hills by the Nemeton that Stiles finally called Bullshit. I mean, Come on… Danny? Everybody loves Danny.

 

But apparently the universe was a hateful bitch and frankly, Stiles had just about enough of that nonsense.  There was a limit to how much loss a person could take before they decided that enough was too much and Stiles had just about been shoved right passed his.

 

He'd seen what that kind of pain did to people.

 

Hell, Derek had been gutted by loss; standing hollow and burnt out like the remnants of his former home. For Cora, the fire that took her family still burned inside of her like a hard ball of rage that stained her entire life red. The day she had hauled her brother out of the hills, Stiles had been torn between missing them and being relieved that they had gotten out before this place claimed them too.

 

Isaac had fled to Paris to lick his wounds. So had Chris, after the loss of his entire family. Peter was fucked off somewhere, still bat shit insane. Jackson was across the pond, learning how not to be a giant douche from some English pack. Allison was still dead, fallen upon a sword for love's sake.

 

Erica and Boyd, buried in the woods while their families still hoped in vain for word. Even Heather, who just wanted to get laid on her birthday, killed by a crazy bitch with abandonment issues. And his mother, who withered out from his foundation and left him off kilter in the all the years hence. His father had taken the loss of his mother like a shotgun blast to the chest that he still winced over like a physical wound.

 

Time after time the universe had reached out and gobbled up what Stiles held dear. Unraveling the stitching that held him together one thread at a time until there was more frayed edging than weave itself.

 

The sad part was that no matter how many joined Scott's new pack, how much the True Alpha tried to bolster the pack bonds by biting high-schoolers left and right with the same single mindedness that he'd condemned Derek and Peter for, Stiles still felt the chill of the bonds broken and lost.      

 

Only Scott, Lydia and Danny remained of the original pack now, even if Danny had been pack adjacent back then. But at least Stiles had them close, could cling to the fragile bonds that thrummed of times gone by when the supernatural was new and terrifyingly fascinating and had not yet demanded such a heavy toll from everyone in his life.

 

But now Danny was dead and there were three.

 

As Stiles held Lydia in corner of the small dressing room, rocking her gently in his arms as she sobbed, her voice hoarse from screaming Danny's name. The clothes from her shopping trip spilling out to lay at the feet of concerned and frightened store employees, he decided that he'd had enough.

 

"No" he whispered into her strawberry hair.

 

"No more" he said and he gripped her shoulders and looked into her watery eyes.

 

"I refuse." he murmured to himself as Parrish took a trembling Lydia home.

 

"No fucking more" he stared out the window of Derek's old loft as Scott grimaced away from Jackson's tinny howls crackling over the shitty international connection.

 

After sending Scott and the puppies on a chase to dispatch of Danny's killer, just another one of the 31 flavours of horrifying death that now lurked the streets of the city, Stiles pried up a loose floorboard and pulls out a small thin box.

 

He remembered the day he and Lydia discovered the spell and learned how frightfully easy it would be to cast it. But what made it so easy to cast was also what made it so dangerous and they'd spent many drunken nights at Lydia's house, getting wasted off her mother's wide range of liquor and eating gourmet chocolate covered popcorn while hashing out their 'what ifs' and 'should haves' with the ingredients gathered between them on the table; before finally burying the small box under the floorboards and swearing each other to secrecy.

 

"Last resort only." they'd vowed as the last board slotted back into place.

 

Now, the boards come up easy, the box below showing a fine layer of dust that his trembling fingers leave jagged trails through. He looks over his shoulder to see Lydia standing at the door. She looks exhausted and vulnerable and filled with steely determination. He lifts the box and brings it to the large table, looking around the abandoned loft and the memories that hang on its walls like dirty cobwebs.

 

Lydia's hair is slicked back as if she'd recently showered, making her eyes seem bigger and more luminous against her pale skin and he feels that old familiar rush. With one last look, her slim fingers tug the box cover off, cracking the protective rune with tiny sparks flying.

 

 "Are you ready?" her voice seems soft and otherworldy, her eye already glazing over.

 

Stiles hefts his pack on his back and nods with a small bitter smile.

 

"Let's kick this pig."

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Their reasoning went like this.

 

Beacon Hills was fucked. Why? Because the Nemeton was all jacked up and broken and pulled all sorts of bad news bears to it from all over the continental US and beyond. Why was it jacked up?

Because Jennifer Blake cracked the last of its fail safe seals open like a bad egg while on her revenge kick against the Alpha Pack, clearing the path for the Nogitsune and more tales from the fucking crypt. Why did she want revenge?

 

Because of the fucked up Alpha Pack and it's insane leader Deucalion. And why was Deucalion insane?   
 

Gerard Argent.

 

If that's not enough then ponder this.

 

Why was the Nemeton so jacked up and broken? Because the Hales were not there to be its Magical Guardians. (and no, the capital letters are not silent) And why weren't they around? Because Kate Argent trapped them in their den and burnt them all to crispy critters ? And who taught Lil' ole Kate how to be a Psycho Bitch 101?

 

That's right… her lovin' pa…. Gerard Argent.

 

And yet again….

 

Who personally orchestrated or set in motion through others most of the crap that happened to Stiles and Beacon Hills as a whole? Who tried to Kill Derek? Who tried to Kill Scott? Who helped convince Victoria Argent to kill herself while he himself coveted the bite? Who kept and tortured Erica, Boyd and Stiles himself in a basement? Who is the asshole who just can't seem to fucking stay dead, be it by cancer or wolfsbane poisoning?

 

Yeah well, we all know where this is going…

 

So when Stiles stepped into history, he didn't any complex plan or strategy.

 

There was just one thing on his to do list.

 

Kill Gerard Argent.

 

Stop this crazy train right at the station.

 

Simple, right?

 

Wrong.

 

 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

 

"Shit, shit, shit"

 

Stiles panted as he ran, ducking under a tree branch and making a sharp turn back up the river bank. Shotgun in one hand, the other scrambling for a handhold on the loose rocks of the incline, he crested the top and took off toward the dimly lit path. The sound of crashing and the breaking of branches come from behind and he dared not turn around to look for fear he would trip on a root and fall as was his usual par for the course when running from the baddies.

 

But then again back then, he'd always had his wolves to haul him to his feet and push him along. Derek with his annoyed growl and Scott with his concerned rumble. As he got to the small sphere of light on the path he threw down the wolfsbane flash bang and was back within the darkness of the wood again as it went off behind him.

 

A startled and wounded whine rang out and he bared his teeth in a grin. It soon fell off his face though as the whine turned into a rage filled howl and he stepped it up a pace, tearing through the gradually thinning wood. He burst through the tree line and came face to face with three gun barrels in his face.

 

"Down" came a shout and Stiles flailed backwards and threw himself on the ground like Neo in the Matrix, but with way more awkward flailing of limbs than Keanu could ever pull off. He hit the ground with an oomph and rolled quickly to the side as massive claws dug in to the dirt where he'd been laying,

 

Shot gun blasts flash at the corner of his eye and their sound echoes like thunder in the small clearing. The raging howl becomes a dying moan and he looks up to see the massive Were creature slumped upon the ground, smoke from the ragged gunshots still rising from its shuddering body. Low mournful moans were coming from it as it's chest heaved, ribs stuttering as it struggled to breathe its last.

 

Its hot breath steamed against the cold night air, the long tongue lagging from between blood stained teeth. Its eyes were wide and rolling, following Stiles as he stepped closer. It gave a small sound as he raised his shotgun, eyes slowly falling shut as he pulled the trigger one last time.

 

"Waste of a bullet." came from his left and Stiles turned to the tall, well-built blonde man who stood, checking his gun idly.

 

"You would think that." Stiles half sneered, turning back to the creature.

 

"Just saying… " the other man scoffed, "… you wouldn't see me wasting good ammunition on some monster."

 

Before Stiles could give a smart remark that was sure to start yet another argument, another voice cut in.

 

"The only thing I'd prefer to see right now is you taking care of the body Archer, there'll be time for conversation later."

 

With a surly frown, the tall man crooks his shotgun in the crook of his elbow and pulls a bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket. Soon enough the carcass is ablaze, the Were flesh burning fast and hot. When it dies down there'll be nothing but a few brittle bones. It both intrigued and disgusted Stiles when he'd first learned of this little factoid. It explained so much about the Hale fire and why so few bodies were found in the ash.

 

That fact that he'd learned the little tidbit from Gerard fucking Argent himself was another thing that boggled the mind.  The same self Gerard Argent that was now watching the last of the flames go down with that familiar gleam in his eye that just a portion of the crazy he would be in the future. Well, not if Stiles can help it anyway.

 

When he'd stepped back in time, he'd thought that it would be simple as finding Argent and putting a bullet in the back of his head. From far away. With a sniper rifle. It was stupidly easy to get one in the past. Gun laws were laughably lax and he'd quickly pawned the generic gold rings Lydia had purchased in lieu of sourcing currency from the era. He'd had a gun and ammunition by the end of day. Heck, the man had even volunteered his small range at the back of the shop for Stiles to do some shooting.

 

They had determined Gerard's current location in the past timeline thanks to a helpful Isaac's careful prodding of a drunken Chris' memories in France and he'd been able to set up a sweet spot in which to blow the bastard's head off.

 

Only he hadn't.

 

His finger had been on the trigger, his calculations for wind speed and drag all worked out for the kill shot.

 

Then he'd hesitated.

 

One second passed. Then two and he cursed at himself because as much as he and Lydia had discussed it at length, even argued for days and cried hot tears over it and finally agreed it was for the greater good, he just couldn't kill Chris' father and Allison's grandfather in cold blood. Not when doing so would sentence them both to non-existence. He'd set down the gun carefully and was pulling at his hair in frustration when the first scream rang out.

 

By the time the night was over, he'd fought off a feral omega werewolf, saved a young woman's life, gotten crude stitches in his arm from a nasty claw gash and had been mistaken for a fellow hunter and invited to join the local posse.

 

What was his life? Really?

 

"Hey, you did great back there." a soft voice came from behind him.

 

The girl was pale with long dark hair and grey green eyes that glimmered in the firelight. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and glanced away, colour dusting her cheeks. She looked barely a day over fifteen even though he knew her to be just a few months over her eighteenth birthday. The dark army fatigues seemed to swallow her slim form and the shotgun lay comfortably in her slender fingers.

 

She seemed the kind of girl that, if he'd met her in the halls of high school, he could have stammered and flailed himself into an embarrassed retreat. But here, in the glow of a funeral pyre, all he felt was surge of protectiveness for her.

 

"Thanks" he shrugged. "I'm good with the 'running for my life and flailing out of the way of danger' shtick."

 

"It suits you… I mean," she flushed, "You do it well? Sorry."

 

 "Hey… it's kept me alive so far." He pats her on the shoulder, "you know what they say… those who fight and run away…"

 

"… are cowards." Gerard sneered, kicking dirt on the last of the embers.

 

"Rude." Stiles rolled his eyes, "... as I was saying before I was interrupted; those that fight and run away can sneak around the back and hit the enemy when they least expect it because not ALL of us are built like we wrestle bears before breakfast."

 

The girl giggles and Gerard's sneer deepens. That made Stiles feel all warm and gooey inside because he loved pissing the man off, knowing full well that he couldn't lay a hand on Stiles. Even if he wanted too. And the reason for that was walking toward them now.

 

"I thought the quote was "He that fights and runs away, May turn and fight another day; But he that is in battle slain, Will never rise to fight again."

 

A shapely blonde steps up next to them, her long tresses tucked neatly under and knitted cap. Her sharp blue eyes pinned Stiles to the spot as she slung her gun safely over her shoulder. Beside her , the brunette seemed to shrink upon herself, her smile dimming a little.

 

"I'm impressed.." he grinned, " … you know your Tacitus."

 

She tilts her head a bit and studies him, "I'm surprised that you knew whose quote that was yet you still chose to mangle it, subverting your obvious intelligence. "

 

"Well, " he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, " I was trying for good ol' Tacticus' two offspring, you know… Tactics and well.. Tact. … considering the company and all."

 

Her eyes dart at Gerard quickly and she chuckles. "Ever since we met you have been a puzzle I just can't solve. " She narrows her eyes at him. "I don't like puzzles."

 

She turns her heel and stalks off, leaving them to follow or get left behind. He winks at the smaller girl.

 

"You heard the Boss Lady… "

 

He slung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her along as he walked, leaving Gerard to bring up the rear. Not that he completely trusted him at his back but he knew the man wouldn't dare try anything with the blonde present.

 

Stiles looked ahead at her retreating form, the way the dark fatigues hugged the curves of her body as she strode through the forest. She was one thing he and Lydia had never really planned for. The one thing that they'd just never considered when they thought about dealing with Gerard. They'd just never expected it to be an issue just like one never expected the Spanish Inquisition.

 

They expected Gerard.

 

They planned for Gerard.

 

They just never expected Maurgerite Argent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helen Mirren is a stone cold fox. Always and forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to warn for attempted sexual assault against Stiles by Malia. it's mentioned but in passing because Stiles doesn't want to swell on it or how it was treated by Alpha Scott. Lydia knows but the Sheriff doesn't.

The 'Maid in Splendour" was a hunter bar. Not exclusively, but a fair amount of its patrons were into or connected to the hunter lifestyle. The story behind the "Maid" was that of a jealous husband had thrown his cheating wife into Splendour lake, drowning her. The Hunter version was that an angry husband had thought his new bride a witch and tried to throw her into the lake to kill her, but it turned out that she was a siren and pulled him to his watery grave instead.

No matter the fanciful story, the bar itself was a hole in the wall kind of place with dark scratched wood, dimly lit pool tables and a giant ancient jukebox that looked like the bastard child of a Las Vegas Casino and a Chevy; all chrome and neon and completely out of place in this rough and gritty bar. But there was cold beer on tap and the booze wasn't watered down too much so the place was fairly crowded for a week night.

Stiles peeled the label off his lukewarm beer and took a slow look around the smoky bar. The low murmur of the crowd, laughter and the clack clack of billiard balls flowing around him like the steady tide. The sweet and sorrowful strains of blues rock pours out of the jukebox track after track. 

It's been five days since he'd arrived. Five out of the seven he was allowed before he was snapped back to whatever future awaited him. He only had two days left to complete his mission to kill Gerard and it frustrated him to no end. He'd had a couple of opportunities to put a slug in the other man's back but almost all of them would have resulted in him being put down like a dog by Marguerite. 

He ran his fingertips across the damp and scarred tabletop and glanced over at the closest pool table. Gerard was getting his ass kicked at pool by the very sexy subject of his frustration. She'd stripped off the loose army shirt and was down to a tight black t-shirt that showed off not only her voluptuous curves but the defined muscles of her forearms and the scars that ran along them, faint white lines that criss-crossed her milky flesh.

She was a tricky one and had kept him on his toes since they'd first met. Her sharp blue eyes shone with a ruthless intelligence and cunning that spoke of a quick mind, hidden behind that pretty face and long blonde hair. Not to mention a smoking hot body under those army fatigues.

Many eyes, both male and female, followed her as she bent over to make a shot, the black army pants molding around her ass like they'd been tailor made and not just some off the rack surplus. Even though Gerard glared daggers at anyone whose gaze lingered too long, it was obvious that Rita's commanding presence and reputation of being a ruthless and experienced hunter were what really kept any wannabe romeos at bay. The wicked long knife she had strapped to her thigh helped a bit too.

He made sure not to look too long or too often as he'd always been the king of awkward boners and had a habit for falling for unattainable women. He knew himself well enough by now. That and his history of relationships was a real comedy of errors.

There'd been the epic crush on the lovely Lydia, the interrupted night with Heather, the awkward innuendo with Danny, the mighty unrequited man pain with Derek and the bad touch with Malia. He'd tried to be friendly with the coyote girl after she'd regained human form and she'd taken his care for romantic interest and had approached him for sex. 

He'd gently refused her because, as far as he was concerned, her mental growth had stopped at nine years old when she'd been locked in her animal form and she was still a child, if not physically, then mentally and emotionally. Secondly, she'd been through enough trauma and he didn't think sexual intercourse would have been beneficial to her current mental health. That the need she felt was purely coyote instinct.

She hadn't taken his refusal well and had jumped him, holding him down with her superior strength and tearing through his clothes, snarling that she could smell his want. It had taken Scott using his alpha roar to get her off a mostly naked and shaking Stiles. Malia had been shipped off to her step father's soon after that, with a request from the True Alpha to keep what happened quiet, to not make any trouble for the pack right now. 

It had burned of course, to keep it between them, to keep his mouth shut, but Stiles did it because it was for the pack. And because Scott asked him to. When Lydia found out what had happened, as she always did; she'd been apoplectic, threatening to go to Stiles' Dad about the whole thing, pack secrets be damned. 

It was only at Stiles request that she'd backed down from that course of action but she'd still dragged him out of Derek's old loft and took him to her house where they drank an entire bottle of her mother's expensive liquor and laid in the dark of her bedroom where she told him, in a halting voice, about her time under Peter's control. Then, with silent tears burning down his cheeks and a soft, watery voice, he'd spoken for a long time. Finally lancing the emotional wound he'd been keeping tightly in his chest, letting out all of the acid pain that had been collecting there. 

He peeled off the rest of the label as the jukebox tripped into a new song, the guitars and drums beating like a heart, steady and loud; the male vocal almost hypnotizing as he belted out the lines. The bodies on the small dance floor seemed to part, revealing a slim female form. Her hips swayed, pulling the gaze and long brown hair that swept over bare shoulders and down her back, obscuring her face. She moved like one totally swept up completely in the music, their whole world narrowed down to this single moment, this single dance. With a spin, her hair swept to one side and revealed an almost angelic face.

Genevieve Archer.

This was something else he and Lydia had never planned for.

The long lost sister of Gerard Argent nee Archer of whom Chris had known very little

The same sister who was supposed to die horribly at the hands, or rather the claws of a feral werewolf and made something brittle in Gerard's head snap completely. The reason that gave Gerard a shove down the path to crazy town and made him loathe werewolves and all other monsters with the fire of ten thousand hells. 

The very same sister whose life Stiles saved, albeit unintentionally, from said feral werewolf when he was supposed to be putting a double tap in the blonde man's thick skull. The same girl who now harbored the hugest crush on Stiles, who happened to be an expert on epic crushes.

And boy… was this one a doozy. 

Rita slid into the seat next to Stiles, her bare shoulder brushing against his jacket sleeve as she set her own beer on the rough table. A glance back at the pool tables had Gerard looking for another game from a random stranger and being a general sore loser. She smelled of gun oil, wolfs bane and the faint scent of Shalimar and it made his libido sit up and say howdy.

As he ruthlessly squashed his urges down, he downed the dregs of his warm beer and swallowed heavily as she sat close enough for her leg to press against his. He kept his eyes straight ahead because to turn his head to look at her was just asking for trouble. He let his eyes drift over th4e crown, his gaze falling on Genevieve's writhing form. His leg shook under the table in his nervousness as Rita leaned back in her chair, draping an arm over the back of his.

"She's dancing just for you, you know that right?" her voice was velvet in his ear.

Stiles scoffed. "She hasn't even looked at me once."

She smirked and sip her beer. "She doesn't have to look at you for me to know. The Genevieve I know never dances, not like that anyway. There's only one person she could be putting on a show for. And trust me, she's putting on quite a show for you."

Stiles frowned. "She's too young. Too innocent. I don't date kids."

"She's a Hunter. She's not so innocent." The blonde quirked an eyebrow. "You like women with experience then?"

He shrugged, "Well one of us has to have some."

He could see her eyebrow raise out of the corner of his eye.

Her eyes gleamed "You've never?"

He shrugged nonchalantly "Never had the time. Frankly, the way my life is going, I'll probably be killed in some cruel and unusual way before anything ever happens. The universe can be a real bitch about things like that."

She shifted a bit closer "You're very forthcoming. Most men would never admit something like that to a woman. They would see it as showing weakness to the lesser sex"

"Well… I'm not most men. " His eyes glanced over at her profile. " And women are not the lesser sex. You've got us guys beat on menstruation and childbirth alone. Almost every woman I know could kick my ass if she wanted and I love them all. Humph… I wonder what that says about my attraction to strong women."

He flushed pink as she laughed, embarrassed to have found himself rambling in front of her.

"You puzzle me" she chuckled.

He gave her a small, wild grin, " …and you don't like puzzles, I know."

They sat for a while in comfortable silence.

She took a sip of her beer. "It bothered you back there in the woods didn't it? When Gerard said you wasted a bullet. It was just an animal."

Stiles sighed heavily, pushing down his ire at the subject. 

"Feral or Not. Monster or not. Animal or not. Whatever you think of that guy tonight. He was a human being once. He deserves some dignity for that, even in death. So yeah he got gave in to his darker desires, so what if he let himself get lost in his base murderous instincts. There may have been nothing more than a beast left in him but in the end he was scared and in pain and if we couldn't see and understand that…"

He shook his head bitterly and drained his beer. "… If we numb ourselves to that emotion. If we kill the feeling in ourselves. If we don't respect life enough to give those we hunt a quick and painless death then what are we in the end?"

"Some say that things like mercy and compassion make us weak."

Stiles scoffed bitterly, "So what are Hunters then? Robots? If we don't hold mercy and compassion in our hearts, if we don't keep holding onto our humanity, then we become just like the monsters we seek to protect the world against. To protect the human world is to be a part of it. For all its flaws and weaknesses."

She took a slow swig of her beer and watched him as he fidgeted under her laser sharp scrutiny.

The other two soon joined them at the table, Genevieve flushed and smiling happily whereas Gerard was scowling deeply. He scraped his chair closer to Rita, scowl deepening as he took in how close she and Stiles were sitting. They ordered another round and Stiles began peeling the label of this latest beer as conversation flowed around him. 

He tried to be engaging, trading quips with the younger girl and sniping with older man but in the back of his mind his mind was running circles over his mission.

He has just two days left and time was running out faster than he thought possible. But it was late and he was tired so he excused himself. Genevieve started to stand as well and yelped when Gerard pulled her back down into the wooden seat.

The night air was cool and crisp and he tucked his hands into his pocket as he ambled toward the hotel he'd been shacked up in. He says nothing as Rita fell into step beside him, matching his stride for stride, her army jacket slung over her shoulder and her blonde hair in loose waves that tumbled down her back.

"You don't like Archer much do you?"

"Not particularly." He shrugged, glancing at her briefly , "but I gather you don't care for him too much either."

Her eyes were curious as she tilted her head. "What make you say that?"

"You never call him by name, only Archer…."

"That is his name."

And hadn't that been hilarious to find out. He'd laughed himself sick back in his motel room that night, over the correlation between Gerard's 'maiden' name, as it were, and Allison's predilection to archery. 

"True, but for all intents and purposes he's an Argent now right. I mean, he's your fiancé… he's practically clan. Yet I never hear you call him Gerard or even Gerry or G-man. Heck, I'd accept a Dearest or a Honey Bunny once in a blue moon." 

"We are not wedded yet." She shrugged her shoulders , "…and he is not the kind of man who responds well to endearments. We've found it better to maintain a professional relationship until we both feel more comfortable with each other."

"That's very … pragmatic of you…" Stiles frowned, making a face. "I mean… this is the man you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with."

She stopped outside of a local all-night grocery, the neon lights played against her skin as she stared at the normal looking people buying their groceries inside. Stiles stepped up beside her, tucking his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out and touching that smooth skin.

After a long while she speaks.

"My mother planned this…" she waved a hand in front of her " … this arrangement between our Families. The Argents are Matriarchal and the daughter heirs need husbands of good stock and breeding to bolster the clan and strengthen the bloodline. The Archer family is from a good American family with many ties. It also helps that Archer… Gerard is one of many younger sons and is genetically blessed."

Stiles spun and leaned against the grocery wall, "Wow, that sounds like you picked him for what kind of kids you can have together. Strong enough to be an asset but not too smart to try to usurp your power as matriarch. But how can you marry someone you don’t even like? That's stone cold."

"That…" She nodded. " … has been keeping my family strong since the day my ancestor first killed the Were that threatened to kill her and her children."

She tilted her head to look at him' "I do it for my family. La famille est tout"

"Family is all. Heh, I get that. My dad, man, I'd do anything for him. It's because of him that I'm here now. Him and others. I'd do anything for him, well, almost anything. My mom died when I was a boy, just ten. She had Frontotemporal Dementia, before people eve knew what FTD was. It was terrifying to witness. It withered her mind. After she died, it was just me and my dad, just the two of us against the world.

I'm doing this to protect him too. We've all lost so much. Now is the time to cling to those you love even harder. You never know when time's up. Shit, I'm probably living on borrowed time already. This kind of life, doing this alone, I have no idea what the future holds."

She leaned a shoulder against the wall next to him "That seems a bit fatalistic"

"In this line of work, how can I avoid it?" Stiles sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "… with my luck I'll probably die soon enough. It would suck to die a virgin though. That would be my one regret."

Hey eyes sparkled as she laughed, the neon light splash colour across her milky skin, the curves of her face, the curve of her body. She's breathtaking and at that moment he wanted her so bad it stole the breath from his lungs. He wanted to know if her mouth tasted like beer and stale bar peanuts, if her calloused hands were rough against his skin. If her breath would come in hitches as he ran his tongue along the underside of her breast. If she pulled his hair as she rode his cock slowly and steadily, ever in control on herself and everything around her.

He shifts at the sudden tightness of his pants, trying not to flush as he realizes he's been staring.

"You are such a puzzle…" she gave him a knowing smile.

"I know I know… you don't like puzzles. It get it." He rolled his eyes.

He yelped as she grabbed his chin and turned him to face her. She ran her thumb along his bottom lip.

"I don't like puzzles. Other people love to just put them together. I love puzzles. I love to pull them apart, see how they work. " she ran her hand down his chest to cup his hardening manhood." ...And you are a puzzle I just want to dig my hands into."

He trembled and gasped at the touch. "Yeah? What about the others?"

She gave him a squeeze, grinning as he let out a whimper. 

"They're grown. They can find their own way home. Besides, I'm not married yet."

She took his hand and tugged him toward the hotel he's been living in, slamming him up against the door as soon as its shut and she did indeed taste like beer and stale peanuts. They broke apart to shuffle off their heavy boots and he realized that he couldn't seem to think with anything other than his dick at the moment. 

Not even the chance that Gerard would find them in flagrante delecto and crush Stiles head like a robin's egg between his thighs was enough to give him pause. He pulled out a string of condoms from his bag that had the blonde flipping her long hair over her pale shoulder and laughing. 

"You sure have a lot of condoms for a virgin." she kicked off her pants to reveal black sensible panties. 

Stiles stared for a while she stripped off her t-shirt to reveal a simple white cotton bra, her nipples hard and visible through the thin material. He choked on air for a second before stammering out.

"I was in Boy Scouts for a month before they kicked me out for my smart mouth. but they did teach me to always be prepared. And as they say… no glove, no love." he waved the condoms weakly as she pulled him in for another devastating kiss. 

They fell into bed and roll so she's straddling him. She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulls, making him arch off the bed so that she can get them down to his legs so he can kick them off. He was was fully erect and blushing as she looked him up and down with a wicked grin.

"Don't worry, I'll make it good for you."

He concentrated on breathing and not cumming instantly as she scooted down his legs and blew gently on the head of his twitching penis. His stomach muscles and thighs clenched as she licked a searing stripe from the base to the -tip, lapping up the pre-cum that's leaking from the slit.

A small voice in the back of Stiles head piped up as the rest of his brain went abruptly blank from the sight. "So I'm just a piece of meat…oh shit…. a sex toy for you to play with."

She looked up at him and placed a sucking kiss on the tip of his dick, raising one eyebrow.

"You got a problem with that?

Stiles thought about that for exactly two seconds. 

"No not really. Just making sure we were on the same page."

"Glad to hear that." She pulled her bra off, revealing gorgeous breasts. 

Oh yeah, Stiles mused to himself a little hysterically, I am so completely fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since the day he'd discovered what sex was, Stiles, being the naturally curious and in possession of an active imagination and brand spanking new set of teenage hormones; had spent many hours either on the internet, in bed or in the shower, imagining various scenarios of when and where he would lose his virginity.

Traveling magically back in time to bust a cap in the ass of a motherfucker who'd proven to be his greatest mortal enemy in order to prevent the loss of his werewolf family and falling into bed with said motherfucker's future wife didn't even come close to being one of the scenarios. 

Of course he'd entertained many, many fantasies about a plethora of hot people with stupidly gorgeous faces who'd paraded in and out of his life. Lydia, Heather, Allison, Derek… even Peter, Erica and Boyd and even Chris. 

Hey, he'd been a teenage boy and they were all fucking hot as burning.

Even Isaac appeared once in a while though the other teen usually never spoke because even Stiles dick couldn't ignore what a twat the boy-who-lived-to-steal-his-best-friend when he opened up his big gob.

He'd even thought about Scott once or twice but it ended up being less of hot sex and more snuggling and he'd come away feeling both comforted and weirded out. He'd been too concerned by Malia's mental state to feel comfortable enough to think about her that way and after the attack, he'd been too traumatized. 

He hadn't been too keen on sex in general since then.

Until last night. Until Maugerite.

Turns out he was right when he said that one of them had to have experience. Holy fuck me Batman! He'd been rode hard, put up wet and had enjoyed everylast minute of it.

With a single minded focus and determination that he'd witnessed during her hunts, the blonde had put him through his paces like he was a thoroughbred until he was left trembling like a newborn calf with his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

He'd passed out cold somewhere between his mindless gibbering and her smug smile and woke to an empty bed and bright hot sunlight in streaks across his naked back. He ached pleasantly all over and rolled over with a soft sigh. A pleased grin settled on his face as he laced his fingers together behind his head. 

Not to toot his own horn or anything but he figured his prowess last night was satisfactory enough considering the scratches that itched along his back and the bite marks that stung on his inner thighs.

He blinked lazily in the half-light through the curtains and saw that Rita's gear was gone; his own gear and boots looking lonely in the drab décor of the room. He wasn't surprised. They were both merely scratching an itch and the blonde didn't seem like the romantic type. As for Stiles, his heart was a bit too numb these days for any kind of sentimentality.

He pulled himself up from the bed with a soft grunt and a sigh and stumbled into the bathroom on weaken legs, scratching at the flaking cum of his stomach absentmindedly. He quickly scrubbed up in the small and thankfully hot shower and got dressed, stowing the rest of his stuff into his one duffel.

Pulling a chair at the small desk near the window, he pulled out a small, worn journal; stuffed thick with notes and pictures. It was the mission journal both he and Lydia had made that one drunken night and stored in the floor boards of Derek's old loft, detailing the timelines and all the points where they could affect change and the potential consequences. 

It was a treasure trove of information and in the wrong hands it could have a devastating effect on the timeline but that little book was the only thing keeping Stiles from going insane with anxiety over his every move. He made a few notes, detailing his failures so far in killing Gerard and laying out the bare bones of a new plan. 

Satisfied, he snapped the journal closed and tucked it into a secret pocket in his pants. It wouldn't do to let the book be away from his person where it could be found. 

He strapped on his weapons, securing his blades, wolfs bane and gun under his jacket, slipping a straight razor into his boot. Slipping on his shades, he grabbed his bag and locked the hotel door closed behind him. He wouldn't be back here tonight.

He had a day left, maybe a day and a half, depending on the strength of the spell they'd cast. He needed to make a move and soon. 

Gerard Archer had to die. Today.


	5. Chapter 5

"Fucking Vampires? Really? They actually exist?" Stiles let his duffel thump on the warehouse floor as his eyes roved over the mission board. " I thought that was just an ongoing supernatural joke like Slender man or the Tooth Fairy."

"Those pouting pretty boys are just badly written fan fiction. Pure hogwash" An older hunter chuckled hoarsely. He was perched on a nearby chair, his gun in pieces in front of him as he cleaned and detailed it. 

"Revenants on the other hand are all too real and they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. A lot of different cultures boast of creatures with similar features and manners that have melded together in some weird amalgamation that history likes to romanticize way too much." 

"Yeah?" Stiles murmured, drawing closer to the cluttered board. "So… no sexy Dracula to thrall my mind and make me eat bugs. That's kind of … a let-down, actually."

"Sorry to disappoint." The hunter huffed a laugh. "Tooth Fairy is real though."

Stiles twirled around on the spot. "Fuck no, really?"

"Faced one down in Arizona some five years ago." Calloused hands made quick work of putting the weapon back together. "Fucker bit me good on the leg before I fed her a shotgun full of rock salt right in the kisser. Put her down long enough to chop her up, burn the remains and salt the ashes."

He stood, securing his gun in his shoulder holster and gave Stiles a cold grin. "There's not much that a little fire and salt can't take care of." 

Stiles nodded slowly, watching warily as the man turned his back and walked away to where some other hunters were divvying up ammunition. Mouthing a silent 'okay' to himself, Stiles turned back towards the mission board. News articles, blurry photos and copies of hand written notes were pinned to the free standing chalk board, in between neat hand writing in different colours of chalk annotating different topics. 

Stiles made an approving noise as he read, crossing his arms across his chest and letting himself fall into the information. Maugerite it seemed, was a researcher after his own heart, her meticulous analysis and calculated approach was on a level of efficiency that Stiles had only seen before in Peter or himself.

He found himself rather impressed by how she ran her crew and was secretly grateful that such a high level of competence had fallen away during the years between now and when Stiles was first introduced to the super natural.

If Maugerite had still been calling the shots of Clan Argent during that whole fucked up time, his poor pack would have been dead and chopped in half before they even knew what was going on. 

Actually, if the huntress had been calling the shots right through, they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. Damn, this paradox wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff was making his head hurt.

"A Pontianak…" he murmured aloud, his whiskey eyes skipping from item to item. "Vampiric ghost of a woman who has died while pregnant or during childbirth. Usually depicted as a beautiful pale-skinned woman with long black hair, red eyes, white dress smeared in blood. "

"Did you get to the part where she likes to hunt and kill men? Using sharp claws to pull their guts out through their stomachs or even though their mouths." a dry voice came from behind him.

"Yeesh." Stiles grimaced and glanced over his shoulder at Genevieve's smirking face. "Though I was kinda expecting more of a Lorena Bobbit type situation."

The brunette tilted her head "Huh?"

Stiles shook his head with a chuckle. "Sorry. Lady was pissed at her husband so she cut off his… you know." He wiggled his eyebrows at her as he sing singed the last couple of words and made a scissor motion with his fingers. 

The younger woman frowned then gaped for a second before barking a harsh laugh that echoed in the empty warehouse. 

"What's so funny?" Rita thumped a small yet heavy bag on a nearby table. She looked both ethereal and deadly in her fitted black army surplus, her blonde hair piled to the top of her head in a messy bun; various weapons strapped to her shapely curves.

Stiles had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the memory of last night, shifting his stance slightly keep his dick from twitching. He shoved his hands into his pockets, giving her a devil may care grin as he spun towards her on his heel.

"I'm just being my normal gregarious and fascinating self with the lovely Vievalicious here. She can't resist my animal magnetism." he winked at both women, "I'm a regular riot didn't you know?" 

"Vievalicious?" The brunette giggled, tugging on the long sleeves of her army green jacket, a blush staining her cheeks.

Stiles felt a pang of regret at the sight. Genevieve Archer really was a lovely young woman and despite her bashful nature, a truly competent and talented hunter. She was smart, funny, loyal and clever and if he'd met her in his high school years of future past, he was sure that they would have been close friends. 

Fuck, in another life where Stiles was still just a spazz with asthmatic best friend and non-existent social life, he would have jumped at the chance to be in a relationship with her. They could have easily been child hood sweethearts, gotten married and had 2.3 kids and a white picket fence. That Stiles Stilinski would have had a wonderful life.

Unfortunately, he wasn't that Stiles. He was a 'too old for his years, jaded as fuck, emissary in training to a pack that was slowly breaking apart, led by an alpha who was both too stubborn for anybody's good and too soft to be an effective alpha, trying to defend a dying town with a withering, trouble magnet, haunted as fuck tree stump' Stiles. 

God, his life had been shit for a long while. It was kind of depressing really.

Unfortunately, after having Stiles inadvertently saving her life and changing the timeline irrevocably, she'd come to see him through rose coloured glasses as her knight in shining armor and not as who he really was. Just another fucked up human trying to survive being thrown into the supernatural world. 

Maugerite on the other hand was Stiles' type in every shape and form. She was an intelligent, beautiful badass, ruthless with a bit of a cruel streak; who could make or break him with a twitch of a lip or a little finger, smug in the fact that he would happily kneel before them with a smile on his face. 

Hey, he was nothing if not honest with himself. When he was thirteen years old he'd gone a four day research binge and had psychoanalyzed himself, determining early on that he was submissive pansexual with some masochistic tendencies. It was another fact of life that he'd accepted from the onset because he was just pragmatic like that. 

It had led to his pathetic fifteen year plan with Lydia and his not so pathetic lust after Derek Hale's beautiful tragedy. But enough about the life of sad sack Stilinski. He'd seen that movie enough times.

He grinned at the brunette, half perching on the nearby table. "Because, my dear girl, are so awesome in so many ways that I had to invent a new word to describe you."

Both women shook their heads at him. Rolling their eyes at each other .

"What you are is full of shit." Rita deadpanned, pulling several silver blades out of her bag. They were simple looking and wickedly sharp with functional black grip handles and crude runes carved neatly into the blades.

"Noted" Stiles admitted frankly. leaning forward over the table, his attention caught by the new hardware. "Silver?"

The blonde nodded. "Silver alloy. Specially made to deal with this type of subject. A blend of silver, copper, platinum and some steel for durability. "

"Nice…" Stiles mused as he examined one of the blades. With Rita's permission of course. He recognized several of the runes, though crudely drawn they looked effective enough. He gently thumbed the edge, gauging the sharpness before sliding it back into the plain leather holster. "Very nice."

She twirled her own blade expertly before smoothly sheathing it in the holster strapped to her leg. Fuck, that was hot. He gave her a leer, wiggling his eyebrows "You sure know how to handle a weapon well."

She gave him that Come Fuck Me smile that had him shifting once more as heat pooled in his belly. "I know how to handle a lot of things well."

They shared a heated moment, both leaning over the table, a mound of knives piled between them. Stiles swallowed heavily before licking his dry lips. Rita's blue eyes followed the movement like a hawk, her gave crawling up his face like a physical caress.

The deliberate clearing of a throat had them both startling and leaning a part, looking towards a now frowning brunette. Genevieve looked troubled, her arms crossed over her chest as she studied them both. Stiles flushed, smiling awkwardly as he tried to think of something that wasn't the voice in his head screaming 'Busted! Busted! Busted!' like a song stuck on repeat.

Out of the shadows, Gerard came up behind his sister and Stiles was struck suddenly by how alike the two of them looked when they scowled. The taller man seemed to sense the tense atmosphere, either that or he'd been spying on them because he was glaring hot death at both Stiles and Maugerite. 

He put a large hand on his sister's shoulder, frowning deeper when she shrugged it off and strode away. He watched her stalk off for a few seconds before turning back to face them. He sneered at Stiles before ignoring him and turning to the blonde and nodding towards one of the empty side rooms.

"We need to talk." 

Maugerite raised a calm eyebrow and the taller man flushed, his skin turning blotchy. His jaw clenched as his eyes slid towards where Stiles was standing. 

"Please." he ground out, throwing a scorching glare at Stiles as he followed the blonde towards the more private area. 

Stiles looked after them before turning to the other side of the warehouse where Genevieve was angrily slamming around tools in the make shift garage. He took a deep breath and felt an odd pulling in his stomach. The time travel spell was unravelling bit by bit. Soon enough it would come undone completely and sling him back to his own time, mission success or not.

Looking up towards heaven for guidance from anyone one up there who may have been listening, he took a couple of deep breaths and went to get himself geared up. 

It was going to be that kind of day.

\--------------------------------------------------

It had taken several years of sneaking and hiding from things that go bump in the night for Stiles to hone his skills at skulking. He was a great fucking skulker, thank you very much. He was also a great lurker. Seriously, he knew how to give good lurk. So much so that he'd surprised even himself at times. 

He would always look back with fond memory of the times when he'd inadvertently snuck up on Lydia or his Dad without even meaning to. He'd even done it to Scott one hilarious time and had laughed himself sick at the sight of his best friend yelping like a scalded cat and scaling half way up his bedroom wall before tumbling down and taking half his bedroom shelves with him. 

After it was all said and done Scott had ended up with a set of broken shelves, an smashed night stand and a bruised ego as Stiles had wasted no time in calling for Melissa and setting off another bout of gut busting laughter.

So he was fairly confident in his skulking capabilities as he inched his way around a hunter issue black pick up because in this day and age, there were no sleek black SUVs to be the go-to Hunter transport of choice. He hadn't seen any Chevy Impalas around and hadn't that been a huge let down.

Stiles gave a furtive glance around but no one was nearby or even looking in his direction. Ducking low, he scuttled his way closer to where Gerard and Maugerite were standing. 

The veritable storm cloud that had been hanging over the taller man's head as they'd stepped into the empty side room had given Stiles some concern.

Not that Maugerite couldn't handle herself against an angry fiancé but that he was afraid that Gerard's ire could endanger his status amongst the other hunters. He'd been glaring at Stiles not so subtly all morning, sniping and grumbling more than usual. 

Even the other hunters had taken notice, most of them skirting around the scowling man. Stiles had been keeping a careful bead on the general mood, glad that there didn't seem to be any ill will building against him. 

There was little to no chance of him cornering Gerard and putting a bullet in him at the moment and he needed to maintain his cover so that he could utilize any opportunity that could arise.

For that to happen he needed to be in on the hunt. The mission would be taking them to an old abandoned hospital. Because of course it had to be a creepy old hospital of his nightmares. As if Eichen House hadn't left him traumatized enough. It was the perfect place to catch the bastard unawares, ghost his ass and slip away with no one the wiser.

If he timed it right enough, he could get it all done just in time to the spell to sling him away. Timing was everything in this. He had less than a day left to get this shit done. 

Soon enough he could hear Gerard's loud and angry whispering, demanding to know where Rita had been the night before. Apparently she'd been sharing a hotel room with Genevieve who'd would have mentioned to her brother that Rita's bed hadn't been slept in. 

He ducked lower behind his cover, inching closer so that he could make out Gerard's angry hissing, spittle flying as he tried unsuccessfully to keep his voice down. Stiles glanced over at Rita, standing cool and calm in the face of Gerard's rage, her posture relaxed and ready; her hand resting lightly on the handle of her knife as the taller man tried and failed to loom over her ominously. 

Stiles took a moment to smirk to himself as he remembered their night together and the sheer control the blonde had held over the entire situation. He still had ached in places that he'd never imagined he would.

Unf. What a woman. 

Footsteps echoed behind him and he froze for a half second before quickly slipping along the wall and stepping casually out into a more open area as if he belonged, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling back towards the mission.

"Eavesdropping?" 

Stiles spun on his heel, pulling up 'who me?' face, all round eyes and innocent smile that worked like magic on adults who didn't know him better. "Hey now, I ain't been dropping no eaves." 

Genevieve Archer made a suspicious face at him before nodding her head towards an empty area. "Walk with me."

It wasn't a request so Stiles followed without question, his mind racing with possibilities until they ended up under the shadow of some high and dirty windows. She turned to face him, her hands fisting in the material as she seemed to search for the right words.

She stared across the warehouse, hey bright grey eyes darkened as her pale pink lips turned down at the corners. 

"My brother may be many things…" she began, shaking her head ruefully before looking at him. "I'm not unaware of his faults."

She leaned up against the dirty wall and watched as the dust mites floated in the streaks of sunlight. "I have six other Brothers, all older and all who have made a name for themselves in one way for another. Gerard is hoping this union with the Argents will be the start of something greater for him."

She shook her head gain, flipping her hair over one shoulder. "In that was he is perhaps more naïve that me, in spite of the age difference between us. Maybe it's because he's always been the youngest boy while I'm the only girl."

She took one hand out of her jacket pocket and examined her nails idly.

"I, on the other hand, can see past all his hopes to what this truly is." She brings her eyes up to meet his. "The Argents was a stud of good breeding and the Archers want the status that this association would garner us. I'm not a fool or a little girl."

Stiles gave her a blank look. "Why are you telling me this?"

The brunette gave him a searching look before speaking. "Because as much I am okay with my brother being practically traded off to another family as breeding stock because of political machinations, I won't suffer him to be a cuckhold in his own house."

Stiles narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Noted."

"Rita…" Genevieve took a deep breath and looked away. "She has always been her own woman and is technically not wed yet but they are promised to each other. That may not have much meaning to most people but within the Clans, it still holds some weight."

Stiles gives a mirthless chuckle. "You don't have to worry about me putting a spoke in the wheels. I'll be gone soon enough."

Her eyes cut quickly to him and she straightened up. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah." he sighed, shrugging one soldier. "I need to head home soon."

She seemed to wilt a bit on herself. "I thought you would maybe stick around." 

He gave her a weary smile. "Nah. I think it's time for me to go."

He reached out a brushed a loose brown curl behind one ear and watched as her cheeks pinked at the soft graze of his fingertips.

"I would have liked to have known you in another life." he said solemnly, "You are an amazing person to know and I'm glad I met you."

Bright grey eyes shone brightly at him and she inhaled sharply. A few moments passed with them just standing there, staring at each other as the muffled sounds of hunters gearing up echoing around them. Eventually the silence was broken and Genevieve smiled, a kind of sad acceptance in her eyes.

"I'm glad I met you too, white knight." she said softly, giving him a small smile. "In another life then?"

His smile grew wider. "Yeah. In another life."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. blood and gore ahead. not as much but still. be warned.

They hit the abandoned sanitarium midafternoon and Stiles was immensely because his life was enough of a horror movie without them going into the creepy haunted hospital at the blackest of night. Next thing you know, they would be eagerly volunteering to split up like they do in scooby doo cartoons and search for the insane deadly vampiric sprit with wickedly sharp teeth and claws and a penchant for gutting men like fish.

At least, Maugerite had a clever head on her shoulders, dividing the hunters into four man teams and stressing that the comm lines remain open and clear AT ALL TIMES DAMMIT. They are all loaded for bear with the special silver daggers, cold iron, rock salt, holy water and high smelling pouches of assorted crap that looked like patchouli and for which Stiles secretly craved the recipe for.

The streams of sunlight through dirty and broken windows bleached out the dingy hallways, hanging like sickly grey syrup off of rusted abandoned wheelchairs and doors left ajar; the rooms beyond shrouded in deep ominous shadows. 

Still, it was miles ahead of trying to scramble around questionable stains and oddly shaped and possibly dangerous strewn debris at dark o clock at night. And for someone as clumsy as Stiles could be, random, sharp and rusty debris was a clear and present danger.

Most people would say that it was better to hunt at night as the viel between the spirit world and the human one was thinner and the ghost would be more likely to appear but Rita had planned for that very situation. A local shaman had lent them a charmed talisman that would draw the Pontianak out, no matter what time of day. They also had some tricks up their sleeve for dealing with the spirit. The patchouli pouch was only one of them.

The consulting shaman had been a non-descript man with mousey features and easy smile. So vastly different from the cryptic Deaton. He'd answered Stiles subtle questions easily an, within a few hours, had taught the young spark more about protection spells and rune arrays than Deaton did in all the times Stiles had known him; the mysterious bastard.

He'd been put in a team with three other hunters, two men and a female team leader who looked as hard as nails and had expert knife skills that made Stiles a little jealous jealous and a lot turned on. She went by the name of Edgerton and had a thick southern accent that made it easy to imagine her roping broncos and skinning pelts in the wild old west. 

They cleared the first level easily, ghosting through old wards, offices and a giant mess hall that reminded him of the oh-shit-what-the-fuck-is-that level of several of the video games that he and Scott used to play. The second level proved to be even creepier and even though the windows let in more light, it was still the stuff of medical horror nightmares. 

They were nearing the point where the Rita's team would be setting up the trap for the spirit when an ear piercing cry rang out in the creepy silence, making them all drop into crouched and ready positions. Edgerton held up a fist, peering around at the room they'd been checking. Her sharp eyes jumped from man to man before she stood slowly, hand still on her weapon. They followed her example, making faces as the ghostly wailing of a newborn that echoed through the deserted halls.

"Shit…" she grunted, "Ok." She shrugged her shoulders, adjusting her holster and sliding the half drawn knife back into its sheathe. "The shaman said the louder the cries, the farther away the spirit. So I say we're good. Stay frosty though. This bitch is known to move pretty quickly."

They all nodded, looking around warily. The ghost was in play now. Seemed that the magical bait had worked. Their comms lit up, rapid fire shouting and orders being given clearly and calmly across the radio. It's a far cry from behaviour he'd witnessed back in his time and he was torn between being grateful that hunters in his time seemed like clumsy bumblefucks in comparison and embarrassed that his own pack's malay planning and behaviour had also been of the clumsy bumblefuck variety.

They close in of the centre of the building, tightening the perimeter along with the other teams as planned. The chatter had thinned out a bit though it seemed that some of the teams had engaged the spirit and had come out of the encounter clawed up. 

As they crept forward, taking and checking each room as they went, Stiles noticed the baby's wails starting to get softer, farther away. A sudden chill went down the back of his spine and he exchanged concerned glances with Edgerton. She nodded, signaling them wordlessly to be more vigilant. 

It's only when they'd gotten to the centre of the final room when Stiles went pale, realizing suddenly that the baby's cries had stopped completely. He spun, catching Edgerton's wide eyed gaze as warm blood splashed against his face. One of the male hunters staggered, blood gurgling hot and bubbly as he sank to his knees. 

The other male hunter swung wildly, the muzzle of his gun lighting up the shadowed room as he sprayed the walls with bullets. Stiles dropped to the floor, wiping the thick blood from his eyes with the back of his sleeve and reaching for his knife. He could here shouts coming over the comms mingled with Edgerton's frantic orders, interspersed with the nonverbal yelling of the gunman. 

The ghost,in comparison, made no sound as it shimmered at the edges of the room. A ashen pale woman with long hair that hung like dead seaweed around her face, her dirty hospital gown was blood soaked around her crotch, as if she'd bled out in childbirth or miscarried. Her arms and legs were grimy with dried blood and dirty, the nails on her fingers and toes were splintered and caked with black grime. 

She raised her head, her eyes looked dead, clouded over with white and her mouth and nostrils were crusted with dried blood and other things Stiles really didn't want to think of. He lay on the floor in those fleeting moments, frozen at the sight of her, his hand already on the handle of his mojo'd knife. 

Time seemed to rev back up as the ghost well… ghosted over to the gunman, her hands suddenly clawed into his stomach. He slowly dropped the gun, his yells cutting off with a surprised choking sound. Eyes wide and terrified, he looked down at the hands in his stomach, making a high pitched squelching squeak as she pulled them out, his guts tumbling out after to fall upon the floor with a disgusting wet splat.

"Oh my God" Stiles hissed softly through clenched teeth, shuddering violently as the pontianak raised up her hand and started to lick the blood off her crusted fingers, her hair and hospital gown swaying in nonexistent breeze. He gritted his teeth, forcing his trembling hand to grip the handle tighter, drawing the blade from its sheath. The glint of the metal seemed to catch the spirits attention and she slowly turned her head in his direction, her milky white eyes boring into his own whiskey coloured ones.

His heart felt like it was ready to seize up his chest and burst out through his throat, his breath stalling in his lungs. His brain screamed at him to move and his body obeyed, tucking itself in a roll that took him farther away from the spirit and brought him into a kneel. He got to his feet in a crouch, knife out and held before him, the other hand palming the patchouli pouch. 

They stared at each other for what seemed like an hour but was probably only a few seconds before the spirit disappeared only to reappear horrifyingly close. Stiles let out a surprised meep and swung the knife, making contact. The spirit screeched, rearing back and clutching at her face. 

A ling thin line appeared on her pale cheek, running from her chin up to just below her eye. Before she could recover and kill him with extreme prejudice for actually cutting her, he threw the pouch in her face; throwing himself back at it exploded in her snarling face.

The cloud of dust lingered in the air around her for a few moments as she screeched and writhed, clawing at her eyes. Blood as black as oil dripped from her to sizzle against the floor and Stiles scrambled back like a crab, making a break for the door. He wasn't going to wait around to see the results. It was time to make like shaggy and scooby and get the fuck out of here.

A hand grabbed his collar and pulled him along. Edgerton grunted, yanking him out through the doorway and pulling him to his feet. 

"Go" she hissed, "We need to lead her to the trap. The pouch will only slow her down." 

Stiles nodded shakily and they both took off running towards where the others were waiting. A terrible screaming built up behind them. Forget the ghostly baby wailing bullshit; mama was fucking pissed. Stiles slipped on some damp mold and skidded around a corner, gripping some torn dry wall and thanking the fates that he was wearing gloves. This place was nasty.

A loud crash came from right behind them and Edgerton spun in place, throwing her own silver blade quick and true. The knife hit the ghost with an all too meaty thunk and the woman in white staggered back at the force of it. That last thing Stiles glimpsed as they rounded another corner was the truly perplexed look on the monster's face.

He gave a hysterical chuckle snort. Score one for fucking magic. 

They'd just made it to the last hall way when something large and heavy tackled Stiles into an empty room, Edgerton's surprised shout ringing in his ears as the breath was kicked out of him. His head hit the floor and he lay there for a moment dazed, his vision spinning. 

He grunted in pain, scrambling weakly for a weapon, sure down to his bones that he was going to die right here right now a la sadistic vampire bitch. His hands pushed against solid weight, the rough and sharp edges of body armour and his brain went "ur?"

He blinked rapidly, trying to see in the long shadows of the room. When they finally cleared he realized that he was looking up into the snarling face of Gerard Archer.

"What the fuck man?" Stiles shrieked, but it came out a bit slurred so he couldn't be sure. The large man all but laying on him just growled and raised a heavy fist. 

Stiles's whole body twisted with the blow, taking it across the cheek and spitting blood across the dirty floor. Stars burst bright and painful across his vision as his hands scrambled helplessly trying to push the heavy man off. His knee caught Gerard in the nuts and, with a muffled groan, the other man fell off him and to the side. 

Stiles tried to scramble away, only succeeding in flailing a few inches to the side. He kicked out wildly, catching Gerard hard in the knee and listening in glee at the soft crack and pained yell. Take that ya fucker.

He could see Edgerton at the door, glancing between them and the hall they'd just come from. Her eyes were sharp and frightened, her mouth set in a determined line. The terrible screeching was getting closer and Stiles waved her on. 

"Go" he said, "Get to the trap point or we're all dead." 

She gave him one last look and a non before reaching in and closing the door. As the room plunged into semi darkness, he could hear her footsteps echoing down the hall. He had just enough time to take a breath when Gerard sprung from the shadows, knife in hand. Stiles twisted out of the way, grabbing the larger man's wrist and twisting it. 

Gerard snarled as his hand released the knife and Stiles grabbed it, slashing out and making the other man back up. He couldn't let Gerard come in too close. The man had almost one hundred pounds on him. He'd crush Stiles in close combat, literally. 

Stiles quickly brought up bent knees, expecting to use them to push the blond back further when Gerard grabbed his ankles and pulled him closer. Shit, Stiles thought as the man above him raised his fist for another haymaker. If he let that punch connect, he was a dead man. 

Aiming for a seam in the body armor, Stiles' blade struck out like a snake, catching Gerard under his arm. The blonde screamed, falling back and clutching at the knife half sticking out of his body. Gritting bloody teeth, Stiles quickly pulled out his gun and aimed it at the other man.

"Say good night mother fucker." he snarled, thumbing the safety.

Gerard froze on his knees, one hand still on the knife; his other arm still raised above his head. His eyes burned with impotent rage as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

"She'll kill you." he snarled. "It's cold blooded murder.

"I'll take my chances asshole." Stiles shrugged, "besides, I'm sure I can make a case for self-defense." 

He waved his free hand at his face, winching. The first punch had clipped him good. He was fairly sure that his eye socket was fractured and his nose dislocate, if not broken outright. He was lucky as fuck that he hadn't been knocked out.

"Go ahead…" He gave the man a bloody grin, as if daring the fucker to make a move. "Make my day."

He chuckled at Gerard's confused look and took careful aim at the man's head. This was it. This was what he'd come here for. This was all that remained for him to save his own future. His finger tightened on the trigger and he breathed out slowly, just like Allison had taught him.

She'd taken him and Lydia out unto the preserve one sunny afternoon and had taught them both how to handle several of the weapons in her father's collection. Not that Stiles hadn't known about gun safety from his dad but the Sheriff had been more of the 'this is what you don't do' school of gun control than the actual weapons training.

So Allison had taken it upon herself to teach the #teamhuman members of the pack how to provide adequate back up when things went sideways; which they usually did. It had been a fun afternoon and was still one of the happier memories Stiles had ever made.

Looking down the barrel of the gun at Alison's future grandfather gave him pause. That same sticking point he and Lydia had argued about and cried over so many times remained the same. If he double tapped future Grampa Crazy McCrazypants Argent in the old noggin, then Chris and Allison would never be born. 

Stiles clenched his aching jaw and adjusted his grip on the gun. 

"Just fucking do it." he muttered to himself.

Gerard's eyes narrowed, his lip peeling back in a sneer as he shifted his weight. With a pained grunt he pulled the blade from his flesh with a squelch, twisting around to fling the blade when Stiles pulled the trigger.

Twice.

The blond fell back against the wall with a pained scream, clutching at his shattered kneecaps. Stiles watched with calm dispassion as the larger man writhed along the floor, blood seeping through his fingers and soaking into his black army pants.

The door burst open and there stood Maugerite and Genevieve, ready for war. They both looked a bit roughed up but nothing that seemed more serious that scratches. Edgerton stood behind them in the bright corridor and Stiles blinked stupidly at the light flooding through the open doorway.

"Put down the weapon" Rita's voice was calm and Stiles had no problem following the order. He felt sick to his stomach and his head ached something awful. Besides, he always did what smart and sexy women told him to do. it was one of his acknowledged and accepted flaws. The blonde huntress carefully toed the weapon away, squatting before Stiles as Genevieve and Edgerton went to tend to a moaning Archer.

Her blue eyes were cold and assessing as she took in his wounds, his blooded face, the dazed look in his eyes, his body sprawled boneless along the grimy wall. She glanced over at where a snarling, whimpering Gerard struggled weakly against the hands that were trying to tend to him.

"He tried to kill me…" he gritted through clenched teeth as Edgerton tore open his pants at the knees, revealing the bloody pulp that used to be his kneecaps. "You need to put him down like the mutt he is."

Rita raised a blonde eyebrow at the man before turning back to look at Stiles.

"I will decide what I need or need not do Archer."

The large man slumped, chastened by her frigid tone. Stiles chuckled mirthlessly, the weird feeling in his stomach growing and throbbing in time with his aching head. The spell was unraveling. He only hoped that his actions had been enough to make the difference needed to save his own time.

He didn't regret not shooting the man in the head. Stiles Stilinski was many things but it turned out that being Judge, Jury and Executioner was not one of them. He slowly reached down his pant leg as three sets of hard female eyes followed his movement. Unzipping his secret pocket, he tugged out his time travel notebook, bent almost in half, crumpled and spotted with blood.

The sickening feeling was getting worse now, his blood rushing in his ears and his vision wavering. He pushed the notebook towards a wary Rita, glancing between her and Genevieve as if he could communicate to them how important this was by gaze alone. 

It seemed he succeeded because the blonde picked up the journal with careful hands and upon seeing Stiles lazy scrawl on the cover, annotated with Lydia's neat writing in between, sucked in sharp breath and tucked it securely into her back pocket. 

Stiles smiled, a little crooked and a lot bloody, letting himself relax against the icky wall as the unpleasant feeling surged strongly within him and his vision started to go dark. Marshaling the last of his strength he forced his eyes to meet Maugertie's clear blue ones.

"You're one hell of a woman Maugerite Argent." he rasped and blew her a kiss.

The world went black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New artwork to celebrate the last chapter. i tried to tie up any loose ends. if you spot any gaping plot holes let me know. if it's small though, just imagine that person happy or that situation resolved. i will.

 

He's no stranger to waking up hangdog hungover, stinking of piss and stale vomit. Alcohol had been a good friend to Stiles in the past few years though it was a coping method he used sparingly. He'd always been secretly terrified of becoming an alcoholic like his father had become in the years after his mother's death.

 

Every once in a blue moon he would allow himself to get together with the members of the pack who could still get drunk (Damn werewolf metabolism)  and get rip-roaringly, mind numbingly pissed.

 

So when he came to, spread eagled on the dusty floor of Derek's old loft, he went through his usual mental hangover checklist.

 

Headache from the cold clammy depths of hell? Check.

Crusted in stinky half dried vomit? No check.

Body feeling like he'd been through a meat grinder? Check.

Covered in some weird mystery sticky substance that smelled suspiciously like blood? Check… wait what?

 

His eyes popped open and he sat up sharply, biting back a yelp of pain and cradling his pounding head with his hands. They came away from his face covered in tacky, half dried blood and he stared at them for a while; trying to parse the information his brain was cataloguing.

 

He looked down at his clothes, his usual uniform. A pair of jeans and sneakers, a batman tee and flannel shirt. All of it clean of any blood like stains though a bit rumpled and dusty from lying on the loft's floor. He blinked stupidly for a bit then got up gingerly and wobbled over to Derek's spartan bathroom. The mirror was cracked and broken, half of it shattered on the floor but there was enough left for him to take in his appearance.

 

There was blood running down one side of his face from a small cut near his hairline, a few spots dotting the collar of his tee. His face was otherwise unharmed though the bones around his right eye hurt like the fucking dickens. He gently felt around the orbital bone, wincing at the soft tissue pain but not finding any fractures of breaks.

 

He washed the blood away carefully, straightening up with a pained groan. What the hell had he done last night? He didn't stink of booze and there hadn't been any recent big bads that needed their asses kicked. So why did he feel like twelve miles of bad road?

 

He wandered out into the main loft area, making a face at how shitty the place looked. There were thick layers of dust all over everything and most of the already sparse furniture was gone. The windows were mostly broken and almost opaque with grime.

 

Even after Derek had left, the pack had maintained the loft, both out of respect and to have a place big enough for the pack to meet all at once. They usually divided the work by roster, different members of the pack swing by every week to give the place a bit of sprucing up.

 

There'd been a stock of food, weapons and magical books and emergency supplies for when, not if, the shit eventually hit the fan. Sort of a fallout shelter in case they'd needed a place to bug out too.

 

Now, as he looked around, he could still see the swipes in the dust from where he'd woken up. He frowned, utterly confused. His phone rang loudly in the silence and he jumped, grabbing at his pocket with a squeaky flail. He scrambled for the phone, fumbling and nearly dropping it in his attempt to answer it.

 

He finally got a handle on it and swiped to answer.

 

"Hello?" he croaked, leaning against a dusty wall as he tried to get his heart beating normally once more.

 

"Stiles!" Scott's voice was excited and a little too breathy. "I just got the new Halo from Issac. He lent me the demo copy they got at the store. He said we could borrow it for the weekend as long as we get it back to him by Sunday night. I know you guys don't really get along but it’s the new Halo dude! Two whole days before the official release. What do you say? Come over later and spend the next few days with a mountain of Pizza, Cheetos and Mountain Dew?"

 

Stiles, sank down to sit on the dingy floor, feeling utterly flummoxed.

 

"Uh sure dude? Yeah."

 

He could practically hear the wide smile in his bro's voice as he cheered.

 

"Awesome. I'm calling in our order now. See you around five."

 

A feeble smile crawled up Stiles' face at the familiar warmth in his best friend's voice.

 

Scott rambled on for a while before asking "Hey dude, Have you seen my spare inhaler? I can't find my normal one and Mom will kill me if she knows I forgot to renew my order until I was down to my last one. I know you always have one on you."

 

The smile dropped off of Stiles face. "Scotty… what?"

 

"My spare inhaler dude. I know you always one on you. You're better at remembering my prescriptions than I am. Heck, Mr. Abdul at the Pharmacy knows you better than he does me or my mom."

 

Scott's carefree laughter tumbled down the line, wrapping around Stiles' heart and squeezing. Stiles looked down at his dirty pants, reaching tentatively into the pocket and feeling an old familiar shape. Gulping, he pulled the inhaler out of his pants and held it in his trembling hand.

 

"Uh… yeah Scotty. I have it." his voice broke in the middle somewhere but Scott didn't seem to notice.

 

"Cool. Bring it over later will you? Bye."

 

The call had disconnected for a while before Stiles had the wherewithal to mutter a weak  'bye' in return.

 

He didn't understand this at all. Scott hadn't needed his inhaler since he'd become a werewolf. Why was he freaking out about not having it now. Stiles' headache worsened and he gripped his phone hard. His brain felt scrambled, memories and facts tumbling about in his brain pan.

 

Squinting down at the device, he pulled up the contact list and scrolled through it quickly. He frowned as the name he was looking for didn't appear, dialing it from memory with a growing nervousness. The number connected after the second ring and an irritated voice snapped.

 

"Lydia Martin speaking."

 

Stiles choked back a pitiful noise at the sound of her voice. "Lydia" he all but whimpered. The noisy background on the other side of the line soon dampened at the sound of a door closing.

 

"Stilinski?"

 

Stiles pressed the palm of his hand against bridge of his nose, the pain coming in spikes just behind his eyes as he said the one word they'd agreed upon when they'd started this whole thing.

 

"Conundrum."

 

Lydia gave a breathy sob, "Oh my God. Stiles."

 

Something in Stiles snapped like a brittle branch and he drowned the sound of Lydia sobbing.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

He walked home in a daze, looking around at his home town as if he was seeing everything for the first time. Beacon Hills looked pretty much the same but there were little things, innocent little things that were different. Fundamentally changed.  Storefronts were different, street names, landmarks. At least two people he knew to be dead had waved at him on the street. He'd even been to one of their funerals.

 

It was trippy to say the least.

 

Lydia had offered to come and pick him up but she'd been in the middle of a shopping trip with both her parents and he hadn't wanted her to skip out on them. Turned out that they'd never gotten divorced yet still both spoiled their only daughter like the princess she was.

 

Granted, she was more freaked out about this turn of events than he was but already her memories were fading while his just seemed to be getting clearer. They'd theorized that this was because he was the one who'd actually lived out the time travel spell and had been more directly in touch with the active magic than she had been.

 

After stopping by the Pharmacy to place a refill for Scott's medication with Mr. Abdul and waving away any concern for his disheveled appearance, He let himself in the house and went straight to the kitchen. He grabbed two bottles of cold water from the fridge and raided the stash of potato chips that his father thought Stiles didn't know about. Silly Sheriff.

 

Plopping himself heavily on the couch, he ripped open the bag and started stuffing his mouth with handfuls of chips, licking his fingers greedily between guzzles of cool water. Turns out time travel was hungry work. After a few minutes of munching, he realized that he'd been staring at the turned off television screen and huffed, grabbing at the remote and turning it on.

 

Then, he promptly choked on a mouthful of half chewed chips, spitting out crumbs over his chest and lap. Looking back at him from the television, live, direct and larger than life was Talia Hale, apparent Mayor of Beacon Hills.

 

Swallowing a hard bolus of masticated potato and draining one of the water bottles so that he would choke to death, he quickly turned up the volume and turned up the volume. In the live interview with a popular local television station, she went on to discuss her plans for running once again in the upcoming election, about  how working with AG Whitmore and Sheriff Stilinski had made for a safer town and how with most of her six kids in college, she and her husband were feeling a bit of an empty nest syndrome.

 

Stiles was still gaping at the screen after the segment was over, one hand in the bag of chips while the other was crushing an empty water bottle in his fist.

 

"We did it." he hung his head and tried to breathe deeply, his eyes stinging with sudden tears. He didn't know what changes had been made. He didn't even know if things had turned out for the better. All he knew was that things had changed.

 

He made his lungs pull in and push out air. "We fucking did it."

 

The doorbell rang and he startled and looked around. Making a face at the state of his salt crusted hands, he set the chips aside and wiped his palms on his jean. He frowned when they came away dusty from his time at the loft.

 

The doorbell rang again.

 

Wiping at his damp eyes with the inside of his flannel, the only part of him that wasn't dusty, he stumbled up and around the coffee table; catching himself against the wall as he got to the front door. He absently wondered if Scott had come over for the inhaler after all because his dad had a key, yanking the door open, a good natured tease on his lips.

 

He froze, staring at the figure in front of him, one hand still outstretched towards the bell. Another figure stood behind the first, a mischievous smile and a glint in grey eyes.

 

"Rita? Viva?" he gaped stupidly for the second time in the past ten minutes. "How… What…Oh my God."

 

The brunette smirked, streaks of silver running through her flowing hair, and elbowed the woman in front to her. "I told you that we'd timed it perfectly. Look at that derpy face."

 

The silver haired woman gave a long suffering sigh and rolled her bright blue eyes. "At least it matches that God awful outfit. You used to dress much better, Bright Eyes."

 

Maugerite swanned passed him into the house as she owned the place, leaving him to stare after her. A gloves finger touched his chin, pushing his mouth closed. "You'll catch flies Handsome."

 

Genevieve's eyes were bright with humour as she slipped passed him as well, going deeper into the house. Stiles sagged against the door, taking in the sharply dressed women standing in his living room. He absently noted Mrs. Johnson across the street pretending to walk her dog and shamelessly rubbernecking but he brushed it off. He had way more important things to deal with.

 

He closed the door with a sharp snap, shaking the cobwebs from his head. He straightened up, suddenly wary. He hadn't exactly left them on the best terms.

 

"You're not here to kill me are you?" he blurted, his eyes sharp as he checked for any weapons. He was sure that they probably were armed to the teeth under their well-tailored outfits but he still checked.

 

"If we'd wanted you dead, we would have killed you sometime in the last twenty odd years don't you think? Rita looked him up and down with that same sharp gaze, as if undressing him and he flushed with still vivid memories. He nodded in acknowledgement.

 

"Well, if you're not here to kill me and mount my head on your trohpy wall then what brings you to my humble abode?"

 

He invites them to sit and hastily clears away the water bottles and half empty bag of chips before sitting himself. His eyes rove over them, curious as to the changes they'd gone through since he'd seen them last. For him it had seemed like yesterday.

 

Technically, he did just see them yesterday even though for them it had been some forty years. His mind boggled, trying to wrap around the notion.

 

Maugerite was still as stunning as ever, her blonde locks lightened to a regal silver. Her face and body were as banging as ever in her tailored suit and sharp heels. Her lips were a wicked red against her pale skin and striking blue eyes. She was something to behold, no matter the age.

 

Genevieve had kept her softness, the smile in her eyes. Her brown hair hung in loose waves, threaded through with streaks of silver grey. She had deep smiles lines and tanned skin. Sun kissed was the term Stiles would use to describe her.

 

They were both still so utterly beautiful and strong and he was immensely grateful that they were both alive. They deserved so much more than what they'd gotten the first time around.

 

Geneveive dug into her hand bag and pulled out a small journal, worn and almost falling apart. It had been carefully rebound some time ago because even the new cover showed signs of age. Stiles froze at the sight of it then slumped back in his chair with, his eyes still glued to the aged pages.

 

They'd read it. He'd taken such a huge risk, giving it to Rita in those last moments. He'd prayed to anyone that had been listening that the blonde to read the journal and use its knowledge to make sure that history didn't repeat itself.

 

He sat in silence, staring at the journal as they filled him in on all that had happened after he'd vanished into thin air after kneecapping Gerard.

 

She'd immediately sworn everyone in the room to silence, getting easy agreement from  both Genevieve and Edgerton. Gerard had given some trouble but by then the team medic had arrived and had doped the man up to the gills.

 

Despite several surgeries, Gerard never recovered the full use of his legs and was put on research and logistics duties. He'd been pissed of course but by then the Archer family had just been grateful that the Argents had still been willing to go ahead with the arranged marriage, despite Gerard's 'diminished value' as a cripple.

 

Fuck, hunters were some cold blooded bastards.

 

By the time the wedding had rolled around, Rita and Geneveive had pored over the journal back to front. At first they'd been skeptical but the combination of seeing Stiles disappear in front of their eyes and several facts in the journal  predicting events that came to pass, they'd recognized the book for what it was. A warning.

 

In the years that passed after, Maugerite and Genevieve rose to the heads of their perspective families, moving behind the scenes to ensure that things stayed on the right path. After Kate was born, Gerard died of natural causes, never having amassed the kind of influence he'd always coveted.

 

Huh, natural causes. At least that was the doctors ruled anyways.

 

The Argents had reached out to the Hales over concern over the Nemeton. After some wary circling, Talia Hale had agreed to meet. Deaton's predecessor was dismissed summarily for ignoring the situation that had been growing within the magical tree. Experts were called in and the Nogitsune was exorcised.

 

Deucalion succeeded with whatever 'friendship is magic' werewolf/ hunter co-operative he'd been touting and went back to his pack at the end, safe and whole.

 

Derek was Pre-Med, studying to be a pediatrician while Laura taught history at the local high school, training to be the next Alpha. The rest of the Hale brood were either away at college or working around the town.

 

Of course there'd been bad guys, things that went bump in the night, things that sprung up from the changes that had been made in time. Though his mother survived, Jackson had still been adopted by the Whitmores, though he still kept in touch with her. Hopefully, knowing that he had three parents who loved him had made him less of an utter douchebag.

 

Malia had still been born though Talia had handled the situation much differently and Peter, although now married to a newly divorced Chris and adopted father of three daughters including Allison; kept in touch with his biological daughter and visited her and her family in Arizona twice a year. 

 

They'd kept an eye on the Stilinski family from afar, not wanting to involve them in the supernatural prematurely, no matter how much they'd been looking forward to seeing Stiles again.

 

He blushed hot at some of the stories they told about seeing him as a baby or as a young boy gamboling after his mother like a new born fawn. Torn between mortification and embarrassment, he gave them a weak glare as they tittered like cheeky old grandmothers.

 

Part of him still couldn't believe it all. Just a week ago, for him at least, he'd been heartbroken and in pain at his life and yet devastating another loss. He'd performed almost impossible magic and tumbled head first through time with a mission to put a man in his grave for the good of his world.

 

The desperate decision, made at one of their lowest points had been one born of having almost nothing left to lose. He'd been hollowed out, scraped bare of emotion; nothing in his calcified heart but a single minded determination to take a human life.

 

Now he was sitting across from two wonderful and strong women whom he held in respect among the likes of his mother, Melissa McCall and his mother.

 

Meeting them had surely been fate smiling down on him for once because getting to know these women, even in the span of a week, had pulled him back from the cold darkness that had been waiting to swallow what was left of his heart.

 

"I wanted to thank you." Rita gave  him that small smile, looking at him like he's still a puzzle she can't quite put together.

 

"God, it's me who should be thanking you." Stiles huffs a laugh that was half sob. "I just set the ball rolling. You guys took it and ran with it. You don't know what it was like before."

 

Genevieve placed a hand over the old journal and gave him a soft smile. "We have a bit of an idea."

 

Stiles couldn't help but smile back.

 

They bid their goodbyes soon after that, noticing before he did how exhausted he looked. They both hugged him, despite his dusty clothes and promised to keep in touch. Rita cupped his cheek, rubbing his skin gently with her thumb before leaning in to give him a kiss. Her lips are as soft as he'd remembered, her tongue as wicked and hot.

 

She pulled away with a smug and knowing smile at his glazed over eyes, wiping lipstick from his lips before patting his cheek.

 

"Until next time." She mock-demurred, winking at him and turning to the door.

 

Stiles stared after her as she walked away hips swaying, lost in the memory of that scorching hot night. He jumped slightly when Genevieve's arms wrapped around him for a warm hug. She bussed him on the cheek twice before letting go and stepping back.

 

"Take care of yourself White Knight."

 

And with that they were gone, driving away in a sleek black car as Stiles stood in the doorway and watched them go. After a while he closed the door and went up to his room to shower and change his clothes. It was almost time to head over to Scott's.

 

He stood in the shower for a long time, sobbing helplessly as the water eventually ran cold. He was tired, his mind exhausted. Old memories were starting to line up along new ones and he was just not ready to parse that shit out right now. All he wanted was to spend some time with his broheim and play some mindless video games.

 

He drive Roscoe over to Scott's house, detouring to pick up the inhalers at the Pharmacy. Turns out all of the staff knew Stiles's habit of picking up his bestie's medication.

 

He let himself into the McCall house, medication and snacks in hand and dumped it all on the couch in order to grab Scott in a tight hug. Scott, being himself, just wrapped around Stiles like an octopus until Stiles eventually pulled away. He didn't ask any questions, just made a happy face at the pharmacy paper bag and handed Stiles one of the pizza boxes.

 

They kept their promise of vegging out and playing Halo until Melissa came in and admonished them to be quiet, that people with jobs were trying to sleep around here. They murmured apologies, properly chastened and grinned at each other when she headed back to her bedroom.

 

Stiles had already called his father and told him that he was staying at Scott's for the weekend. That conversation had been a strange one. He'd been torn between bursting into tears at hearing his father's worry free voice and going down to the station and seeing his dad in person but the memories in his head were still too jumbled up and the Sheriff would have surely have noticed something amiss with his only child.

 

The two boys tumbled in into Scott's bed in the wee hours of the morning, wrapped around each other like they always did. As Stiles' head lay on his brother's shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the raspy labour of his breath; he thought back to the circumstances that led to him and Lydia casting that spell.

 

They'd been so desperate, so broken. Too far at the end of their ropes to care if the spell ended up killing them both instead. Just seven days to change their whole world, hopefully for the better.

 

And they'd done it. They'd won. They'd saved the day. They'd stopped the rock falls everyone dies shit show that they'd sliding towards. Sure there were probably still fucked up things in the world, because hey… this was the supernatural they were talking bout here, but the good outweighed the bad by leaps and bounds.

 

He'd sort out all of that tomorrow though. He'd wade into the thick of it and discover how far the ripples had gone. He'd learn about this new world and turn over every last stone, every last secret he needed to know in order to protect the people he called his own. He'd do all of that tomorrow.

 

He could be that Stiles tomorrow.

 

For now, he was this Stiles. A bit confused, a bit broken and hollowed out and turned upside down. Best friend to an all too human boy with a crooked jaw and big heart; who was way too stubborn to be a good alpha and too soft to be a good leader.

 

But he didn't have to be. They didn't have to be anything they didn't want to be now. That was another life.

 

He snuggled his cheek against Scott's shoulder, watching the first pale light of sunrise through the open window. The bed was warm and smelled like family, like home, like pack.

 

"I love you Scotty." he murmured against the other boy's ratty sweatshirt.

 

Scott snuffled and shifted, turning his head to stick his nose into Stiles' hair and slurring, "I love you too buddy." before falling asleep again.

 

Stiles felt his heart give a little twist and he smiled into the material which had bunched up under his cheek before closing his eyes and finally letting go.

 

Yeah, he'd take on the world tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. so that's done. I started this story in 2015 and it languished for almost three years until i took it back up again. I'm happy i did and i'm happy with the results. i have a couple more unfinished Rough Trade Nano projects to complete so i will be working on them when i can. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did. Ja ne.


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